Coaster Toaster

One of my friends once told me when he ran track races in high school he'd imagine Jesus was waiting for him at the finish line to help him run faster. I've tried this in my own running life (no racing, though) and found it didn't really work. Not that I wouldn't sprint with all I had even if my legs were heavy with exhaustion and my lungs burning like I'd swallowed a campfire if Jesus were waiting for me, I just can't seem to psych myself out into imagining He is. I guess since I know all that's waiting at the end of the run is a slightly air conditioned house (though I must say, it feels pretty amazing after running in St. Louis' crazy 100+ degree weather), I can't seem to make myself sprint the last few blocks.

I used to think that's how I wanted my faith life to be, though. I wanted to die sprinting to Jesus' arms with my dying breaths, falling into His arms, utterly spent. But if I'm sprinting there at the end, then I must have just been jogging along the way. I don't want to spend my life just jogging along at a decently easy pace. Sure, a few hills, but none too steep to stop me. Yes, there'd be sweat and breathlessness, but overall just a jog, plugging along through my life, getting through the not-too-hard struggles and making it in my own strength.

I don't want to jog. I want to run, run as hard and fast as I can until my legs give out and my lungs explode and then keep running. When you run a long distance you pace yourself, save energy and keep the pace steady. That's not how I want to run my race. That pace involves too much planning, saving strength for the end. I want to use all my strength at the beginning, sprinting along and trusting God will give me more strength when I've run out. I don't want to save a little faith and a little power and a little strength for the end of the race. I want to live a life that pours all I have out to bless others and glorify God. I want to spend it all, I want to love so deeply and live so fully there's nothing left at the end. I don't want to have enough left to even sprint when the finish line is in sight.

But at the end of it all, I've decided I don't even want to be running. I want to be shooting in on a roller coaster, as fast as the drop from Mr. Freeze at Six Flags that I will never, ever ride. If I'm running my strength is still pulling me along, but if I'm on a roller coaster, it's just me relying on the cart, the rails, the coaster. I want Jesus to be my roller coaster, supporting me fully as I fly into heaven with total thrill.

I want a life race full of adventure, sprints, and utter dependence on Jesus, living and loving with my whole heart and soul.

Mostly Drowned

The storm is raging. The ship dips and dives in the force of the strong winds, you stumble and plummet over the edge, falling into the vengeful sea. And you sink, deeper and deeper, the salty wetness crushing you with its dark weight. And then your limp arm is suddenly grabbed by a far stronger one, like the scene in Lord of the Rings when Sam is drowning and Frodo pulls him from the water, and you're clinging to the strongest lifeline you could ever have imagined. And as you are pulled to safety and rest in the strongest, most comforting arms, you wonder how you could ever have felt safe, comfortable, or complete before. And even though the storm was terrifying, and nearly drowning was possibly the worst experience you've ever gone through, the resulting rescue makes the storm utterly worth it.

There are so many storms in this life. Sometimes you stay in your ship, sometimes you get a lifeboat, find a log to float on, or your rubber-duck floaties fail and you sink to the bottom. No rhyme or reason, the storms simply come.

Sometimes I think we expect there to be no storms. We think once we follow Jesus the storms will just go away. We think Christianity equals easy, we think it means happy, fun, and full of unicorns and rainbows so long as we follow the rules and we're homeward bound. But nowhere in the Bible does God promise an easy life. Nowhere does He promise a calm sea. Nowhere does He promise that we will never have troubles, trials, or tribulations.

What He does promise, is refuge through the storms. He promises to be there all along the way, He promises that He will be glorified through our weaknesses and our trials, and promises that He'll never allow us to go through something we aren't strong enough to get through with Him.

We don't know exactly how we'll get through the storms, or exactly how Jesus will accompany us though them. He may choose to keep us aboard the ship, or provide a raft to sink upon. Maybe we'll get a lifeboat, or keep sinking. Those moments when we continue to sink are often the scariest, when we feel the most abandoned, but we have to keep trusting because that hand will come down, grasp our flailing arms, and rescue us again. Often at the last possible moment, when every bit of breath is gone and the darkness is closing in, but we hold onto faith and hope and comforting arms grasp us again.

I used to feel like my faith wasn't good enough through the storms because my stories never seem to be like "the stories." Story after story tells of the faithfulness of God being revealed through miraculous moments and mysteries. I feel like none of my stories are that epic, I have nothing super cool to tell. So my faith must not be great enough.

Like during one of Peter's storms, when he walked on water to Jesus' waiting arms. I can't walk on water, and I don't think I ever will. But I got to thinking. Maybe that's not my story. Maybe none of my stories match up with the stories of great faith I've heard because those aren't my story. My story can't be the same as the ones we've heard before because those are their stories, not mine. Maybe I'm not meant to walk on water, maybe I'm supposed to sink. Maybe at the bottom of the ocean is a person to be rescued, and only I can sink and get them, or a great treasure to be found that only I can discover. If I walked on water, my purpose would never be fulfilled, instead I must sink, find, and be found.

See we all have storms and we all have stories. God doesn't promise what the storms will look like or when they will come, and He most certainly doesn't promise calm seas, but He promises He'll be there in the storms. We don't know how He'll come through or how our stories will be written, but He promises they will be written, and they will be beautiful. Maybe difficult, there may be a few glitches in the computer while it's being typed up, but it'll be there. And it'll be perfect, because every story that God writes is.

God doesn't promise it'll be easy, He reminds us there will be storms, but He also promises to be with us through it all, faithful and loving no matter what.

Reassuring Rainbows

It was one of those quintessential sunsets. Perfectly shaded clouds surrounded by a halo of soft light. Golden sun still brightly burning low in the sky. Rays of sun streaming from the puffy pastel clouds. The sort of sunset you see in oil paintings of glorious landscapes, nature at its finest, perfection in paint.

When I was little I used to imagine that was exactly what heaven looked like, when the rays of sun shine through the clouds, shooting across the sky, majestic and beautiful. I recall sitting in the car as a little kid, staring out the window, mesmerized by the awe-inspiring nature before me. I wanted to capture it on paper so badly, but some moments can only be remembered, no depiction can do them true justice. I always thought of heaven, except the rays of sunlight were streaming from God, a crown of golden light to display His glory.

And now I know it is, nature is a reflection of God's glory, majesty, and awe-inspiring beauty. His power and perfection are on display every moment. The rays of sunlight are screaming His name, the mountains boast of His power, the fields of flowers sway and dance with His grace, the waves lapping on the beaches whisper of His gentleness. He's in it all.

Sometimes there are moments so beautiful I want to simply sit there in awe, no words, sounds, movement, I simply want to bask in the glimpse of His glory. And sometimes I think those moments of breathtaking beauty were there just at that moment, in the place, for me. A reminder and a gift, a picture-perfect moment, just for me.

We all fall down sometimes. Hit the bottom, scape an elbow, bruise a knee. We all feel unworthy, unwanted, unnecessary. I have those moments far too often. Doubt clouds my reason and logic. Too many bad moments and I start believing the oh-so-persuasive lies that no one needs me, that I'm useless, that I'm not good enough, that I'll never do anything of value, never make a difference, never change lives. That I haven't done anything of worth in my life, that I have no value, that my family and friends don't need me, don't love me. Lies, they're all lies, but they're so tempting when whispered into the ears of an already doubtful mind, invading and infecting, turning doubts into debilitating fears.

But Jesus says, "no, no. You're mine. You did nothing to deserve my love, yet I love you still. I died for you. You are beautiful and valued. And since you're clearly still having doubts, let me show you."

And there's a beautiful sunset. A perfect raindrop hanging from a spider-web sparkling with tiny rainbows. A butterfly landing on your arm, resting there for a few moments, peaceful and calm in the raging storm of life.

And love covers all doubts, all fears, in a soft blanket of assurance and peace.

With All Creation I Sing

Driving down the highway during last night's lighting storm was one of those beautifully incredible experiences you can't really explain. It doesn't quite make sense why it was so awe-inspiring, so life-giving, so fulfilling. Yet, it was. It's good there were few other cars on the highway, I was far more concerned with the sky than my driving! 

There was so much glory in that storm. It was so full of power, life, majesty. And I felt so small, so overwhelmed with the utter glory of God. He was so there in that storm, so present, the heavens were so full of Him, so boldly proclaiming His holiness. 

I believe nature reflects the glory and beauty of God. It's His masterpiece, carefully carved, shaped, and welded by His hands into a thing of beauty and perfection, marred only by our own sin and failures. Yet despite this brokenness, He can still be found in the crashing waves of the ocean, the delicate wildflowers on high green hills, deep in mysterious, dark forests, in playful streams running over rocks and into rivers. He's always there, but sometimes nature displays His majesty in such an undeniable, bold manner. 

Like storms, summer storms. Winter storms are too dreary. It's cold, the wind is biting, you can't stand outside and truly experience it. But summer storms are perfect. The warm air cooled by the strong winds. Dark, low-hanging clouds coating the sky, darkening the world. The air is heavy with the scent and damp of the impending rainfall. 

And the bolts of lighting, crashes of thunder, lighting and breaking through the sky. Flashes of white, frightening and at the same time, graceful and pure. Like God. Mighty and powerful, intimidating and awesome, and also graceful, beautiful, gentle, and loving. 

So storms remind me of the epic greatness of God. His power surrounds me, I feel so small. And as the rain comes pouring down, I feel cleansed and refreshed in His glory. A perfect balance of might and majesty and gentle love.

Power and Majesty

Some moments can't be captured. Not with a photograph, video clip, sound byte, or painting, no words will suffice. They simply rest in your mind, to be replayed, refreshed, repeated. Like a lightning storm. Epic, flashes of brilliance in the dark sky. Shattering through the silence, white light breaking through the sky, a shout in the night. Glorious. Like a domino effect, one flash after another, the jagged bolts of blinding light like broken glass. The dark sky split open for a moment to reveal the glory above. Storm clouds lit for a moment with a halo of light, pure and beautiful. No rain in this brilliant storm, just thunder, lighting, again, and again. Filling the sky with a power and majesty utterly indescribable. But paired with that nearly intimidating power, so much grace in the simple beauty of a thin line of pure light shooting through dark heavens. Beauty and grace, power and glory, nature and the heavens praising as they shouted with all their being, "Holy, Holy, Holy..."

A Smile, Just Out of Reach

"Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all"

There's a balance, between our "duty" to God and receiving His free love and grace. If we become too focused on one, we forget about the other, yet each are equally important. I've recently found myself camped far out in the woods of each, too far gone in one direction, realizing it, and sprinting far too far in the other. 


I've always been all about love and relationship. It's what I believed in, what I still believe in. Unfailing, undeserved, heartbreaking, tear-inducing, faultless, beautiful love. It's the driving force of my life. It's why I am who I am and where I am today. 

My relationship with Jesus has always been more rooted in feelings, spirituality, and prayer than theology and and intellectual pursuit. My decisions made based on what I heard rather than rational (or irrational, depending on the situation), logical, well-planned points of action. My future is relatively up in the air, whatever God wants me to do. 

And I'm happy with it like that, I really am. But in the past month or so I've read a few books, read through Acts, and felt rather convicted that maybe I was all thought and no action, all talk and no real doing. I learned more about our purpose, and glorifying God. I hadn't really thought about it before, that our purpose is to glorify God. He loves us, and we love Him, for His glory. He died for us, for His glory. We are to spread His gospel, for His glory. 


The more I focused on this, the more I lost sight of the other part - His love. Unfailing, undeserved. Me seeking to glorify Him became, in my mind, more of a task to fulfill. Rather than something I sought out of joy, I started feeling like I need to glorify Him because I had to. Like that was all that mattered, like I didn't matter as a human being at all. 


The meaning of the sparrow, of Matthew 6, when Jesus cares so much for each sparrow that He knows when every one falls, and if He cares so much for the sparrows must care so much more for us, was lost. I lost sight of the value each of us has in His sight, not because we deserve it or are anything special, but because He loves us, just because. 


Everything was thrown out of wack. The thought of Jesus' love used to bring an automatic smile to my face, and suddenly I couldn't quite grasp it. That smile was just out of reach, like a work on the tip of your tongue, just begging to be spoken. It was there, truth, but my misdirected mind couldn't quite find it. 


As I read through Acts I marveled at Paul's total surrender to God. Why? Why would he be so willing, so joyful, to suffer and die for the name of Jesus? 


One could be willing to die out of duty, but one finds joy to die in the duty that accompanies love. 


Love. It all goes back to love! 


Think about it. Of all the religions in the world, the hundreds of different gods and rulers, what's the difference with Jesus? We don't serve and sacrifice for Jesus out of obligation. We aren't so afraid of a power that could turn us to a pile of dust at any second that we tremble and offer up sacrifices of gold and cattle and beg we won't be next. We aren't living in constant fear of not being good enough so we pray and pilgrimage and purge. That's not how it works with Jesus. 


Jesus loves us. For no reason we can ever comprehend because we don't deserve it. The truth is that we aren't good enough and never will be, and the beauty is we are loved still. And because we are loved so deeply and purely, we want to serve Him! We want to glorify His Holy Name, we want to sacrifice our lives. We want His desires to become our desires, His heart to become our heart. We want to be His because He first wanted us. He first loved us and we love Him in return. 


And so there is a perfect balance. First we were loved, and so we respond, not out of obligation to give penance, but out of desire to give love in return, in whatever form He desires. For His glory, for His honor, for His beautiful name, because we will never receive a truer love than that of Jesus, and in that truth, in that beautiful love, is a smile.

Sprinkling, Sparkling

It's like rain on a beautiful day. The drops gently falling from above, splotches of moisture on the parched earth and dry faces. Cool relief speckling tanned skin in sparkling droplets. Water covering sunglasses in a glistening mosaic, creating a thin layer of tiny rainbows dancing before the world. Like seeing stars, but far more beautiful and without the head injury. Drops stick to eyelashes before coursing down cheeks. A river of tears without sorrow. Like rain. On a beautiful day, cloudless sky and sun shimmering through the trails of water spewed from the sprinkler. Momentary relief, cool and sweet.

Makes Me Happy

Group behind 'Kony 2012' wins new respect

The rights group Invisible Children, whose controversial video publicized atrocities attributed to African militia leader Joseph Kony, is credited for keeping up the pressure to capture the fugitive.

Invisible Children’s chief executive, Ben Keesey, talks with interns Nathaniel Pavon of Hemet and Heather Hochstedler of Nolesville, Ind., on June 28 in the group's San Diego headquarters. (Don Bartletti / Los Angeles Times / July 1, 2012)

By James Rainey, Los Angeles Times

June 30, 2012, 3:38 p.m.

It's been nearly four months since "Kony 2012" exploded into public consciousness as a rare bird: an Internet video that captivated the multitudes with a story of geopolitics and human suffering, not a pop diva's star turn.

The video about a brutal militia leader in central Africa topped 70 million views in the first week of its release in March. Invisible Children, the human rights group that produced the piece, just as quickly became the object of derision. Critics said the San Diego-based organization had oversimplified and distorted the story of Joseph Kony and the Lord's Resistance Army, or LRA, which has kidnapped children and turned them into sex slaves and boy soldiers for more than a quarter of a century.

Now the story of "Kony 2012" appears to be turning again. Invisible Children has continued to pound away on its core mission of publicizing LRA atrocities. And last week, the rights group received credit from diplomats and activists for helping keep the pressure on for what finally may be an international initiative to move against the fugitive Kony.

The United Nations Security Council on Friday endorsed a plan for ending the threat from Kony and reintegrating his victims into countries — including Uganda, the Central African Republic and the Democratic Republic of Congo — where his militia has abused civil society. The African Union organized a coalition that pledges by the end of the year to put 5,000 troops from four African nations in the field to hunt Kony.

And on Wednesday, a U.S. House committee agreed to expand a State Department fugitive program, making those who track down Kony and his supporters eligible for reward money that can range from $1 million to $25 million. All this received coverage from a few wire services and Africa-focused news outlets, but little attention from big news media in the U.S.

Jan Egeland, deputy executive director of Human Rights Watch, said he greeted the progress on ending the LRA threat with mixed emotions.

"On the one side, we are so grateful there is this new regional program … that seems to take this problem really seriously," said Egeland, who tried to get action against Kony when he was a U.N. undersecretary-general, beginning in 2003. "On the other side, we are now in the 26th year of the problem."

Many nonprofit groups and the U.N. struggled for years to bring attention to Kony's atrocities and slowly built a consensus to stop him. Egeland called Invisible Children and its hyper-viral video "a big net plus" in super-charging the discussion.

"All attention is in my view good, because there is one thing a mass murderer like Joseph Kony and his terrorist movement thrive on, and that is our neglect, our lack of attention," Egeland said in an interview from New York. "They thrive in the shadows."

Francisco Madeira, the African Union's special envoy on the issue, also praised Invisible Children, which he said "has been able to make the world know there is a tyrant in Africa who is maiming, raping and destroying the lives of young, young Africans."

Invisible Children's chief executive, Ben Keesey, said that he was gratified to hear those words but that the organization and many others working on the issue must keep up the pressure to make sure the four nations who have promised to hunt Kony — Uganda, Sudan, Congo and the Central African Republic — follow through.

Keesey, 29, has become the public face of Invisible Children. A video update he provided in May has notched only about 60,000 views online. But Keesey said the group expected in the year beginning in September to give 3,000 presentations about Kony at high schools, colleges, libraries and other locations.

The group began its work in Uganda in 2005 and now supports a radio network to warn of impending LRA attacks, a public information campaign to encourage defections from the militia, and rehabilitation and schooling for those who have left the group.

Invisible Children delivered 3.7 million pledges last week to the U.N. from followers who promise they will keep up pressure for Kony's capture. The group said it planned to add a few more employees to a staff that already numbers 40 at the San Diego headquarters and 85 in Africa.

"The true test of the impact of all of this is whether the lives of people living in the LRA areas are getting better," Keesey said. "It's never enough just to have it discussed."

james.rainey@latimes.com

Twitter: latimesrainey

Copyright © 2012, Los Angeles Times